What Brings Us Together
by Salome Weil
Summary: Ten years after the war Hermione is a widow with two children who's determined she doesn't need anyone else- certainly not George Weasley, the successful businessman who's likewise determined to remain a bachelor despite his meddlesome family. GW/HG
1. Chapter 1

**I own no part of the HP franchise, all rights to JK and co and no profit is made here.**

**AN: I've been on a Weasley Twins kick recently, reading fics, finding wallpapers, enjoying the Phelps twins...and as a result I was inspired to try my hand at some twin fics of my own. This one is the start of a George/Hermione and set when they're well into their adult years. It may contain a twist, some OOCness and is definitely a graduate of Alternate U. If you like it well enough or are curious, let me know and I'll see about whipping up some more for you!**

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><p>"Ugh! No! Absolutely not, Ginny Potter! Get the hell out of my office, now, you good for nothing, scheming, plotting…Harpy!"<p>

Ginny stood back from Hermione's desk and laughed herself silly. "Harpy? Really? That's the best you can do?" she asked, pointing and laughing at her best friend minus Harry.

Hermione screwed her mouth up and glared for all she was worth. Ginny laughed harder. Hermione threw her hands up in frustration and sat down so hard her chair rolled back several inches.

"Ginny, honestly, just…can't you _please_ just go?"

"No," Ginny replied, calming down and leaning on the desk again. She glanced back at Hermione as she stole a few gumdrops from the dish on the desk and began popping them in her mouth. "But would it really be so bad?"

"It's very easy for you to talk about it all, Ginny, you're married already and your husband doesn't show any signs of keeling over! Do you know how hard it was for me to come to terms with it the first time round? I mean, really? It's not like I had a bleeding choice – you wanted to get married! Besides which, it isn't as if I'm great odds, am I?"

Ginny sighed. "Hermione, Ron was not your fault. Draco was certainly not your fault. There's no curse on you, you're a perfectly desirable woman – even with two Malfoys clinging to your hips," she snorted. Hermione glared again and snatched the candy dish away from her.

"They may be Malfoys, but you know perfectly well that my children don't take after their father's family."

"Hermione, that's not what I meant. I was only joking. Come on, Hermione? Please, don't be upset."

"And why not? You come barging in here with an invitation to The Burrow after months of ignoring me…you're an idiot if you think I don't know exactly why you're here."

"I only came because I thought you might like to get out a bit. It's been two years, Hermione, never mind that we miss you since, oh, _you're_ the one who's been avoiding _us_. And if I just happen to have invited some of my teammates and their very eligible brothers and cousins, well. It's not my fault I'm so likable and my mother's cooking is the best."

"You haven't invited anyone aside from myself, Ginny Potter and you know it."

"Hermione, you've got to get this notion that we're all against you out of your head."

"And you have to get the notion that just because Angelina broke her contract with George in order to elope with Fred means he's ripe for the picking out of _your_ head!"

"Oh, come on, Hermione! Like I'd do that to George! He's really hurting right now. Do you know, when his contract finally came up for binding over a dozen witches turned him down once they realized he was the twin with the missing ear? Yeah, turned out they all wanted Fred, can you believe it? They wanted a whole wizard or none at all, never mind that he's rich and funny and cleverer than half of they were, put together. Not to mention the whole war hero thing. Oo, it made me sick, seeing them do that to him. His confidence is so low that Bill has to absolutely threaten him to come away from the flat even for drinks."

Hermione highly doubted his confidence was that low considering the force he'd become in business and charities, but she kept from pointing it out in order to continue her argument.

"My point exactly!" she retorted. "Knowing all that, why in hell would you think for one second to try and set him up with me?"

"Augh!" Ginny exclaimed, tugging at her hair. "Hermione Malfoy, you are impossible!"

"Granger-Malfoy," Hermione corrected her.

Ginny swore and went on with her tirade. "Bloody…impossible! I already told you, I want you to come to Sunday dinner because you need to get out and your children need socializing and if I happen to know some nice, single wizards who will be there, then just ignore the fact that they're single and at least have a few good conversations and laughs. Is that so much to ask? Hermione, we miss you. I miss you. It would be really nice to have someone – a woman – to talk to who wants to discuss anything _but_ Quidditch because as much as I love my job, the conversation is mind numbing at times. Alright?"

Hermione eyed Ginny suspiciously a moment more, then pressed her lips together.

"You swear this isn't about George."

"I swear."

"And if I don't give away my number to any blokes you won't be disappointed."

"I won't. Does this mean you'll come?"

"And you'll respect my choice to remain single."

"I will – _does this mean you'll come_?"

Hermione sighed and finally nodded. "I'll come."

Ginny squealed and leaned across the desk to throw her arms about Hermione's shoulders. Then she was up and bouncing out the door. "Two o'clock, sharp," she called over her shoulder. "Bring a green, if you want to, but you know Mum – plenty of food."

Hermione lifted hand in return, then smacked said hand to her forehead. What had she just agreed to? She was an idiot. She had to be an idiot – well, to be fair, she supposed losing some IQ points upon marrying a Malfoy was to be expected. But at least she had her little angels out of the bargain. Granted, neither had flaming red-hair like she'd once dreamed her children would have, but it was enough to know they were there, and they were all hers.

The last ten years of Hermione's life had not gone at all the way she'd expected. Well, she had a job at the Ministry, but that was about the only thing that did match up. Everything else was wonky – in a good way, now, but at the time it had gone wonky, hoo boy, had she been utterly caught off guard. First there had been Ron's death in the final battle – caught in the crossfire of Bellatrix's wand as he'd attempted to avenge Hermione's torture first and save his brother second. He'd certainly saved Fred's life, but he'd lost his own in the process and a little part of Hermione's heart would always be chipped from where she'd had to mend it. It had taken her years to get over his death and Ginny and Harry had truly helped her through that difficult time…but while she'd been grieving, the Ministry had been plotting within its uppermost levels.

The result of their plotting was to pass a series of laws that made life as a single witch or wizard extremely difficult. The taxes imposed, the curfews, the fines for something as innocent as a night out with friends…it was monstrous and had all been designed with marriage in mind. A great many witches and wizards had given into the pressure to marry and produce heirs – as the taxes for couples without children were obscenely high compared to those who had them. Hermione had fought valiantly against the Ministry for as long as she could, but finally, with her own job at stake and her upward mobility permanently frozen, she'd been forced to release her name to the matchmakers. And who had they come up with but Draco freaking Malfoy. He'd turned out to like the idea marginally more than she had, but although their eventual union had been relatively calm and his courtship of her surprisingly sweet – though he never really lost that swotty little smirk – it wasn't until her first child was born that she settled into the idea for good. After that, things had grown almost…normal. She even thought she might have loved him as much as she had Ron and when their second child was born he'd looked at her so fondly, so proudly, like she was something he'd never known he wanted…

Then, the accident.

It had changed her life forever, had left her a widow, had left her searching for something she'd thought she already had. The nights when she woke up feeling the bed for Draco, the days she walked in the door of their home and expected to see him stroll out of the kitchen, the weeks that went by when she missed him so much she thought she would tear herself to pieces with the grief. It was worse than Ron. It was so much worse, because this time she'd tasted life. She'd felt a man move in her arms, had given birth to his children, had agonized over what to buy him for their anniversary. And now, just two years later, she was feeling better. She could function, she could smile and laugh when she was supposed to, she could hold her children without wanting to weep.

She never wanted to feel that sort of grief again. Twice was enough. Twice was too much. And Ginny wanted her to meet someone. Ginny and the other Weasleys no doubt thought she ought to have someone, that her children would need a father. Well bugger that. That was exactly why she'd spent the better part of a year ignoring Ginny as much as possible, because of her and her family's interference. She didn't want someone else. She didn't want more pain and that's what relationships led to. Nothing but pain. She was tired of losing people – she was terrified enough for her children from day to day. She didn't need to feel that way over some man ever again.

With a decided hrumph, Hermione turned back to the work on her desk and began going through it at a maddening speed. She had reports left to finish, children to pick up from their grandmum's, and dinner to prepare. She didn't have any more time left for moping or worrying over Ginny Potter and her batty family. Sunday dinner at The Burrow after months of peace. Merlin. She'd gone mental, finally.

Well, Hermione thought as she picked up another thick file, at least she swore it's not about George.

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><p>It was totally about George.<p>

Ginny had lied, as she'd had to ever since Hermione had grown a hole in her heart previously occupied by a living, breathing Draco. Bugger that Malfoy, she thought. Er...rest his soul, I mean. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and shoved Draco's corpse from her mind. Now was not the time to be thinking of Hermione's pain. Now was the time to threaten her brother into doing what she wanted so that eventually neither of them would be in pain.

Ginny was at George's flat just after leaving Hermione's office and was leaning against the kitchen table while George rifled about in the icebox for something stronger than tea. He was currently trying to ignore her, but she could tell by the tense set of his shoulders that everything she was saying was getting through to him.

"You do realize I know you can hear me."

He exited the freezer holding a bottle of vodka aloft.

"It's not too early for Bloody Merlins, is it?" he questioned and Ginny wrinkled her nose.

"George, that's a girly drink."

"It is not," he replied, huffing. "And let me remind you that even if it is, it's my ear that's missing, not my –"

"Too much," Ginny said. "Too much. Now listen to me, George. Are you coming to dinner or not?"

"I was, until I heard an annoying rumor you'd invited Hermione."

"What?"

"I was already coming for Mum's sake – missed enough recently, haven't I? Bill made that damn clear last night," George added, rubbing his neck and wincing. Ginny's face softened and she started to speak, but George's eyes shot to hers and narrowed dangerously. "So imagine my surprise when I Owled to assure her I was coming and I get back a lovely reply explaining that she was so pleased as ickle Hermione and her Malfoy sprogs will be there as well and 'it will be so lovely to have the whole family together again.'"

"Well? So what?" Ginny said. "You like Hermione."

"I like a great many people, sister mine, but that doesn't mean I expect to see them magically agree to come to family dinner again just weeks after the Prophet has broken the story about my sainted twin and his elopement – and especially not ones that are still sodding about, moping for a bloody Malfoy."

Ginny frowned hard and shoved off from the counter to stalk over to George. She yanked the bottle from his hands and smashed it over into the sink. George looked at her wide eyed for a split second before he dashed to the counter and stared down into the sink, watching all the lovely, high-end vodka drain away. He forced himself to take several deep breaths.

"Alright, I reckon I deserved that," he mumbled a moment later. Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and reined in her anger.

"You did," she said. "Hermione may have been avoiding us and yes, she's still grieving in a lot of ways, but she and Malfoy genuinely cared for one another. Can you imagine, George? Can you even begin to imagine? First Ron, then Malfoy? And after having children with him? They weren't even friends when they were matched, you know. And you know perfectly well it's been twice as hard for single witches. I mean, it's not as if you stepped forward then, though you certainly could've."

"Ginny, she was Ron's…no. Besides, what's brought all this on? Why are you even thinking…"

"I'm not," Ginny said immediately. George turned around to stare at her and crossed his arms. Ginny sighed. "Alright, I am," she admitted. "Merlin, how do you two do that? It's not as if I'm known for my matchmaking skills."

"Oh, let me guess, Hermione knew what you were up to as well."

"Well…I sort of swore it wasn't about you."

"And she believed you?"

"I think so."

"Fuck me," George murmured. "Either you have gotten better or her brain really is addled."

Ginny frowned at him. "Listen, I just think that at the very least you two could be friends, you know? Good for one another."

"The only thing I am good for right now, sister mine, is driving witches away and drinking myself into oblivion. Oh, and I invent things sometimes and it's made me rather rich."

Ginny tried not to smile and failed. Both of them knew perfectly well that description was patently untrue, no matter what story she'd weaved for Hermione. George still had all the charm in the world, despite witches giving him a miss for that ear – never mind the clout he held when it came to the business. He'd always had more of a head for it than Fred, after all. She watched her brother carefully a moment more, while thinking.

"So you will come," she finally ventured.

"Oh, I'll be there. Like I said, between Bill and my own guilty conscience, I'll be there. I can't avoid the happy couple forever, can I?"

Something in the way he said it – a little less bitter and a little more carefree – made Ginny take a second look at him.

"George…you're not…did you _know_ about Fred and Angelina?"

He gave a start and Ginny pounced.

"You did! How long did you know? That's why you said that about missing dinner and avoiding them…you'd been skipping for weeks because you already knew about them, isn't that right?"

George backed away and reached for the tea kettle.

"Listen, Ginny, even if that's true it doesn't matter, does it? What's done is done. Nothing I can do about it now so I may as well learn to live with it, eh?" he said lightly.

Ginny crossed her arms and stalked around him as he prepared the tea.

"Mm-hmm," she said, the truth dawning on her. "So not only did you know, you're actually ok with it, is that what you're saying?"

"No!" George protested a bit too loudly. "Not in the slightest! I just think that if they're happy, well, he is my twin after all and I did care about her happiness, so…"

"That's bollocks!" Ginny cried. "You wanted them together, didn't you? In fact, you deliberately avoided our gatherings in order to throw them together! George Weasley, don't you dare try to deny it. Oh, I see exactly what's going on here."

"And what is that, exactly?" George responded, turning around. "Please, enlighten me."

"You pushed away the only witch you were finally matched with because you don't want to get married. You have some mental idea that you're married to your job and no witch will want you and you knew Fred would never get married before you unless you did something drastic; so you picked Angelina, an ex-flame of his, on purpose and then conspired to get her to dump you for Fred. Am I right?"

For once in his life, George floundered for words, a comeback, the perfect retort that would shut up his baby sister and make her leave him the hell alone, the way he wanted. Ginny glared at him.

"George Weasley, you are in so much trouble now."

"Don't tell Mum!" he said, reaching out and taking her by the shoulders. She looked up at him, aghast at the honesty she saw in his face. He genuinely was afraid someone would see right through him the way she had.

"Don't tell Mum? Really? That's all you can say? Dear Merlin, George. You're more of a mess than I thought. Does Bill know any of this?"

"Every bit of it," George admitted, groaning and Ginny groaned along with him.

"And that's why he's the one who's been able to threaten you into compliance. I see. Oh, George," she said softly. "You're going to be ok, you know?"

"Yeah, maybe once you lot finally agree to leave me alone," he said, dropping his hands and turning back to the kettle. He poured out the hot water. Ginny stayed his motion over the second cup.

"None for me, thanks. I really ought to get back. Harry can't pick up James tonight and if I leave him with Mum much longer she'll spoil his dinner." She hesitated. "Are you going to be alright? We'll really see you at dinner?"

George shrugged. "I promised Bill and Mum – and now you. I'll be there. Just don't expect any sparks to fly with me and Hermione. She's a witch out of my league, Ginny, never mind it would just be too weird. Besides, now that you know…can't you just let me alone?"

"They're cracking down more, George. It's not going to get any easier for you, you know. Hermione doesn't have to worry anymore, of course, but I just thought…at least you could be friends. She needs some friends. People that aren't so busy with work and families of their own…oh, Merlin. George, that sounded awful. I'm sorry."

"Nah, I know what you mean, Ginny. Don't worry so much. I'm tougher than you think."

"Yeah, I knew that already," she retorted, glad to see his humor restored. "After all, it was only an ear you lost, right?"

"Right," George said, grinning back at her. "Now get out of here, run home to your ickle Jamie-kins."

"Alright. See you soon, George. Oh, and…sorry about the vodka. Mandrake based?"

"Oh, no, Ginny. You are not replacing that bottle. You broke it fair and square."

"Yeah, yeah," she tossed back at him before she disappeared in a flash of green flames. George turned from his tea and stared into the fireplace morosely. So, he might've banned Ginny from buying him another bottle…that didn't mean she'd broken the only one he had. He turned back to the icebox and pulled the door open, sticking his head far inside to find what he wanted…wondering how much alcohol it would take for him to sleep straight through the next few days and wake up Monday to find the dinner had come and gone.

Honestly, if Hermione thought the last ten years hadn't gone entirely according to plan, George's had gone entirely too much to plan. He'd helped his friends and family defeat He-Who-Was-The-Bunk; he and his brother had gone on to rebuild and expand their prankster empire; and he'd made massive amounts of money and helped pay for his little sister's final year at school. He had helped his parents with their remodel on The Burrow. He had even ensured that his little brother would always be remembered, memorialized as he was in the Ronald Weasley Foundation, a group that funded an assortment of programs for youth in the wizarding world. And of course, through it all he and Fred had been side by side, consulting, making the decisions, helping one another cope…Merlin, how they'd coped. Fred had been a right mess immediately following the war. Aside from his Mum and Hermione, Fred had probably been the most affected by Ron's untimely demise. After all, it had been Fred Ron was trying to save at the time that curse hit him and George knew the guilt his twin felt over that was massive.

So really, when the marriage fiasco caused by the Ministry with all but an actual law forcing young singles to pair up or sod off happened, and George assured Fred that he had no intentions of getting married, Fred had done the only thing he felt he could. He'd decided to throw himself into managing his twin's life. Why? Because a project was so much more appealing than dealing with his own twisted emotions – George knew it only too well, himself. Which was why he, in turn, had decided to make a project out of Fred. He personally thought his project had turned out much better. Now Fred was gloriously, deliriously in love with Angelina and in the weeks leading up to their elopement George thought Fred had been happier in those short months than he had for the past ten years. Not even knowing they'd both made it out of that duel with Bellatrix alive had been enough to assuage the guilt that had hung over Fred, but Angelina had fixed all that, as George had known she would. In a small way, he was as happy as his twin, just knowing how Fred felt. Not only that, Fred's marriage would keep Molly satisfied for a while, which would give George enough time to figure a way around those stupid Ministry mandates once and for all.

He didn't want to get married, he had no use for the institution and no witch had any use for him, that was certain. Why give in to the pressure when he had more than enough money to pay his taxes in a timely fashion and never incurred any fines since he never wanted to go out? No, he could live with what the future had brought him…and needless to say, he was fairly sure Hermione Malfoy could live with her future as well. Still, Ginny did have a point, albeit a small one. Hermione probably did need a friend who was single and relatively carefree. One who had enough time on his hands to not mind how many times she interrupted their conversations to speak to her children or how often she begged to stay in because someone had a cold. He wasn't much for going out, the most conversation he made anymore was with customers and immediate family – barring the face he presented to the world of business – and he had no intentions of letting his work or a girlfriend – Merlin forbid – get in the way of what precious few friendships he had left. Hell, he even liked children, for all he went on about them…he wouldn't spend so much time helping out at the Foundation otherwise.

But that did not give his little sister the right to try and set him up with her single friends, particularly the ones who were still in mourning, busy trying to raise children and had likely snogged his little brother. And Ginny honestly thought he'd be happy to date Hermione after that when for all he knew, maybe she'd even done more than snog Ron – no. Oh, no. He hadn't needed that picture in his head, at all. Ew, ew, and yech.

George looked at the new bottle of vodka in his hand, decided it wouldn't help erase that image – in fact, it would probably make it far worse – and stuck his head back in the freezer. It was going to be a long wait until Sunday dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Don't own it, don't profit, all rights to JK and co.**

**AN: Second chapter, a bit long, and yes things are moving at Romance Novel Speed here in Geronimo land, as I have dubbed them. Hey, some of the letters are the same. It made sense at the time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Oh, and yes, I gave Scorpius a terrible nickname. Well. It's either terrible or cute. I personally find it cute, but maybe that's just me. **

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><p>Her hands were immaculate. It wasn't the first thing George noticed when he met Hermione for the first time in months, but it stuck with him – especially when she took his proffered hand and gave him a wide, but tired smile.<p>

"George!" she said and he smiled back at her, unable to help turning on his charm, even after everything he'd said to Ginny. He noticed how smooth and soft her hand felt in his and he shook it a hair longer than necessary.

"Hermione, you're looking well," he said and she shook her head of frizzy curls emphatically.

"I know I'm not," she replied with a stern look that melted back into a smile a moment later. "But thank you."

George took a moment to evaluate her again. Yes, she looked tired – probably didn't get enough sleep and insisted on doing everything herself, as usual. Not only that, but it was obvious she hadn't given the same amount of thought to the rest of her appearance as she had to the care of her hands.

"Nah," he finally said. "You look beautiful, as usual."

"A sight for sore eyes?" she asked, mouth quirked to one side and her eyes sparkling.

"And then some," he said and she laughed. He thought she probably didn't laugh enough and then he thought he wanted to help her find more laughter in her life.

Then George reminded himself that she'd snogged his baby brother and worse and got a grip on his feelings. Damn Ginny with their mother's eye for trouble.

"Well, it's nice to see you again," Hermione said as they skirted the edge of the kitchen, heading for the dining table with the plates of food Molly had shoved into their hands as they passed by.

"You as well," George replied. "And how are you?"

"Aside from beautiful?" she asked cheekily and he laughed.

"Always," he replied, winking before he could stop himself. Fortunately Hermione didn't seem to notice and was taking the dishes from his hands, settling everything in the center of the table.

"Honestly? Tired. Overworked. No thanks to you, I might add," she said with a little grin, referring of course to the amount of paperwork that came through her department for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes alone. She started past him to collect more plates from Molly and George put his hands on her shoulders, stopping her.

"Sit down, Hermione. Rest your feet. I promise I won't tell anyone."

"George…" She actually seemed a little flustered at his proximity and he dropped his hands, but pointed to a chair behind her.

"I mean it. Sit down. I'll help Mum."

Hermione looked as if she wanted to argue, but just then a little tyke with blonde hair raced through the doorway with another tyke – George recognized James – chasing him. Hermione looked after them with a resigned expression on her face, shrugged at George, cast him another weary smile, and then started after her son and his tormentor. She gave the chair one wistful glance before she disappeared into the living room and George watched her go, a light frown on his face.

Molly bustled up behind him and nudged his arm with the edge of another dish.

"George, be a dear and set these out too. Oh, was that Scorpius I saw? I do hope James isn't bullying him too much – he is older and bigger than the dear. Then again, boys will be boys. A little rough and tumble didn't hurt you lot, did it?"

George gave his mother a distracted smile. "No, Mum." He took the dishes and set them out next to the ones Hermione had so carefully arranged. Molly watched him appraisingly and then peered around the corner to the living room.

"Hermione certainly has her hands full," she said conversationally, but George was not about to be drawn in.

"She does," he calmly agreed. "She might hire a nanny."

"Nonsense," Molly said. "What she needs is a husband. But even with one she'd have them in daycare. She'll never quite that job of hers. Loves it too much."

"A witch is entitled to work, Mum," George said, feeling strangely defensive of Hermione. "And she needs a source of income."

"Oh, you young people. Always taking things the wrong way. I simply meant she does like her job and won't quit it – not that she ought to in the first place – and so that makes it even harder. You don't have to lecture me about the value of a job when raising young witches and wizards today, George Weasley."

George gave Molly an abashed glance and leaned against the table.

"Sorry, Mum."

"But having a husband would mean that the work at home would be divided evenly. You know the only reason I do all the work around here is because I made you lot my job," Molly went indulgently, acknowledging his apology with a small wave. She wandered back over to the kitchen just as Fred and Angelina arrived outside and though George knew things were about to get awkward, he was grateful for the distraction. He really didn't need his mother going on about Hermione's lack of a husband when she'd just caught him staring after her.

Ron, he thought firmly. She snogged Ron.

Fred broke into his attempts to distract himself. "George! I, er…George!" he exclaimed again, then launched himself at his twin, never one to let a silly thing like a stolen fiancée and an elopement get in the way of his brotherly love. George gladly met his hug and held his twin tightly.

"Alright, George?" Fred murmured and George pulled back, grinning.

"Alright. And you? Enjoyed your honeymoon?"

"Oh, come on. You don't really want to talk about that, do you?" Fred asked and the genuine concern in his expression made George want to mess with him – just a little, of course.

"Why not? It was nearly my honeymoon, wasn't it? Your marriage is probably the closest I'll ever get to one. Come on then, share the details," he said, hooking an arm around Fred's neck.

Fred ducked his head and flushed a bright, guilty red, cutting his eyes away to Angelina.

"George…" he murmured, shifting uncomfortably beneath his brother's grasp. George grinned and then schooled his face into a serious expression.

"I'm happy to let this one go, Fred, since I know how in love you are, but just promise you'll do one thing for me."

"Anything," Fred declared vehemently and for a brief moment George felt bad for how guilty he was making his brother feel. Oh, well. He went on in low tones.

"Will you at least name your first born for me?"

Fred nodded fiercely. "Of course, George. I would've done that…" He trailed off as he looked up to see his brother grinning madly. His eyes widened and then his face collapsed into laughter.

"You git!" he exclaimed and hugged George tightly again before twisting from under his brother's arms in order to get him in a headlock so he could give him a noogie. George laughed while protesting loudly and Fred laughed too as he let off a slew of appropriate insults.

Angelina and Molly glanced over at them and only Molly looked mildly concerned…mainly because Angelina had figured out what George's plan was the first time he'd contrived to leave her and Fred alone together.

"Oh, dear," said Molly. "I do hope there won't be too many hard feelings. This isn't going to be awkward for you, dear, is it?"

Angelina shook her head and smiled secretively. "No, Molly," she replied. "I think they're mending things pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

"Of course," Molly said, smiling and handing off a dish to Angelina. "Those two couldn't stay mad at one another if they tried. And you know I'm just happy you're a part of the family. Now be a darling and put that on the table, will you?"

Angelina nodded and headed around her husband and his brother, pausing long enough to let Fred kiss her while he still had George in the headlock, letting him get some of his own back.

"Oh, yech!" George exclaimed loudly and Fred and Angelina laughed before she continued on to the table with her dish.

"Um, excuse me, has anyone seen a little boy run through here? Blonde, about so high?" came Hermione's voice, interrupting their rough housing.

Fred looked up from terrorizing George, whom he kept firmly in his grasp, and greeted Hermione with a wide smile.

"Hermione! You're here, too! Lovely! Been a while. You remember Angelina?" he asked conversationally and Hermione was a bit distracted as she responded, since she was still looking for her wayward son.

"Hello, Fred, it's lovely to see you, too. Oh, Angelina, hi. Erm, sorry, but have you seen…?"

She was on her tiptoes, trying to see around Fred's tall frame when George finally twisted his head enough to look up and got an eyeful of Hermione's slender legs. His gaze was utterly arrested by the sight and he dared follow the line of her legs as far as he could, to where her modest skirt ended at the knees, flowing softly back and forth and, _oh_. They were captivating. _She_ was captivating in that moment, her muscles flexed as she stood on tiptoe, her feet dancing about to keep her balance, her simple, sensible ballet flats bowing out beneath her arches.

Everything changed in that moment. Everything he'd said to Ginny, everything he'd thought about himself and dating and marriage. In one moment it was all turned upside down.

He wanted to hold those feet in his hands in that moment, wanted to rub them tenderly at the end of a long day, wanted to twirl them gracefully around a dance floor, wanted to paint the toenails the most outlandish WonderWitch shades, wanted to slide the most expensive shoes money could buy over those heels…he _wanted_. Then those immaculate hands he'd noticed earlier fluttered about her waist and smoothed down her skirt several times before folding themselves primly as she settled back down on both feet. George suddenly found himself staring at those hands instead of those legs and feet and he couldn't decide which was worse – that he was debating which were sexier, hands or feet, or that he was staring at a witch's hands and thinking dirty, dirty things about them, or that it was Hermione Granger's hands about which he was having quite immoral urges.

Her voice startled him and he struggled briefly with Fred again to let him go. Fred let go abruptly and backed off, hands held up in peace, but the look on his face was one George recognized and didn't appreciate. He frowned and his brother gave him a grin and hurried off to the table to help Angelina, shouting another pleasantry at Hermione over his shoulder. George watched him for a moment, a light frown still on his lips.

"What was that, Hermione?" he asked, rubbing a hand down the back of his neck, which was now quite stiff no thanks to his darling twin.

"You two aren't really fighting, are you?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes mildly concerned and George realized she must truly be tired, or distracted, or stressed about something to be asking if he and his twin were fighting. He and his twin never fought. Occasionally they disagreed about something minor when it came to the store, but fight? Never.

"Nah. Just taking the p," he explained and she looked as though she didn't believe him.

"It's just that your face is awfully red," she said and George knew his cheeks had gone one shade brighter simply from her pointing it out. He shrugged and reminded himself not to stare at her legs or feet too much in the future…or her hands.

"Go on, Hermione. What's the matter, now?"

"Oh, well, then that's all right…" She seemed flustered again and George wondered why until he realized he was staring at her like she had the greatest legs he'd ever seen.

Never mind that it was true.

"So, still looking for the tyke?" George asked, prompting her to focus and forcing himself to take it down a notch.

"Yes," she said firmly and looked grateful to have a goal in mind once more. "Yes, I am. He ran through with James earlier, you saw them too – have they…?"

She waved those hands to illustrate her question and George forced himself to look at her face when he replied.

"I haven't, no. I can help look for them," he offered and Hermione looked more than grateful. She smiled at him and things felt somewhat normal again.

"That would be a big help, thanks," she said. "Especially as James has come back and so Scraps must be hiding someplace."

George had begun to follow her from the kitchen and through the back door and he stopped on the threshold.

"Scraps?" he asked, looking at her askance, his mouth a crooked smile.

She blushed and gave a short laugh and he began to follow her again as they walked across the yard, peering around shrubs and up trees as they went.

"Yes, Scraps. It's his…sort of a family nickname. Oh my god, I know it sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? But it's just that _name_," she said, lowering her voice.

"Scorpius?" George prompted and she nodded.

"Draco insisted, it was our first child and he absolutely insisted we follow the family tradition."

"Which would be…" George crouched to inspect a particularly full shrub.

"Constellations," Hermione replied, peering into a hedgerow. George turned to look at her from where he was kneeling, which turned out to be a bad idea as it gave him a lovely view of those legs of hers again. He stood up before he could blush like a schoolboy and wandered over to her.

"Hmm, I can see that now. Clever. And Scorpius was next on the list, is that it?"

"Unfortunately," Hermione said with such a long face that George burst out laughing. She immediately looked chagrinned.

"I'm so sorry. Oh, poor Scraps. I'm so terrible about that. God, I'm a horrible mum," she said, covering her face with her hands. "What sort of mum says something like that about her own son's name? _Merlin_!"

"Aw, come on, Hermione. You're not a terrible mum. I mean, look at Mum and…Ron…" George hesitated and looked to Hermione, who was waiting patiently for him to finish his story, apparently ok. He plowed ahead. "Anyway, you think she wanted to give poor Ronniekins that whale of a middle name? Nah, she only did it because it was a family name. The story is Dad insisted."

Hermione shook her head. "But at least you all liked your uncle," she pointed out. "Scraps doesn't have a leg to stand on." She paused to call for her son, using the very name she'd just been deriding. George joined her in calling for the boy for a moment longer before returning to the topic.

"I'm sure he'll grow into his name, Hermione," he said reasonably. "Most people do – or they find a way around it, use a nickname. Like you already are." He cast a sideways glance at her, one eyebrow sky-high. "How does he like the pet name?"

Hermione blushed again. "I think he's too young for it to have made an impact – and it's really his name for himself anyhow," she said. "He couldn't say his name properly for the longest time and Scraps is what it eventually turned into. Draco was mortified the first time he heard it come out of my mouth," she admitted almost shyly. "He refused to call him anything other than his proper name, he said. But you know what? I caught him saying it once. Never heard it again, and he never admitted to it, but when I confronted him he smirked, you know? Like he did? And Scraps was just gurgling up at him and going on about broomsticks like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I'm convinced Draco called him that whenever I wasn't around."

George didn't feel upset or jealous that she was going on about Draco and her child. He was pleased she didn't mind sharing those things with him. He imagined she must have been incredibly starved for conversation the last several months, since she'd been so buried in her work and family. Starved for conversation and company, based on the way she'd ambled around the yard with him twice now and still hadn't found her son…and no longer seemed concerned about finding him.

Just as he was thinking that, however, he spied a head of pale blonde hair duck back into the upper branches of a tree they were about to pass under for a third time. His eyes still on the spot where the tyke had vanished, he started to lean down to Hermione to point it out when he felt her put her hand on his arm.

Everything changed for the second time. Her hand was warm and her fingers slender but strong and the feather light way they drifted down his arm he felt aftereffects clear to his toes – and that was wearing long sleeves. He shuddered to think what her touch on his bare skin would do. Then he wondered why he hadn't reacted that way when he'd shook her hand earlier.

Because you weren't paying as close attention earlier you numpty, a voice in his head informed him. He looked down at Hermione to see her shake her head at him and tried not to feel disappointment when her hand left his arm.

He failed.

"Did you…" he asked, catching on a bit late that she wanted him to keep quiet about her son's hiding place.

"Yes?" she asked, looking up at him and he decided to think fast. So, she wanted her son to come out from his hiding place on his own. Well, he could think of a few things that would do it. Grinning, he cleared his throat.

"Mum was talking about how difficult things must be for you. I was wondering if you'd ever considered hiring a nanny."

Hermione stared at him outright for a moment before her brows descended with satisfaction and her lips curled into a sly smile. Then, though she wrinkled her nose, she pretended to give it some thought.

"A nanny? I don't know…I'd have trouble finding someone I could trust, I think."

"Yeah, but you might invest in a live-in," George suggested and was rewarded with the sound of rustling leaves above their heads. He went on. "You could be more thorough with your checks then – and with all the Ministry mandates recently it would have to be someone who met their standards, too, considering your position."

"What, you mean in my department? That has an effect on security checks for _nannies_? I had no idea they'd been dipping that far into people's private lives," Hermione said, indignant and momentarily distracted from the original purpose of the conversation. "George, we have to do something about this. They've gone too far."

"Er, right," he said and decided to pull her back on track. "Who knows, maybe next they'll be requiring working parents to use a Ministry sponsored nanny. And she'll have to be on site," he added.

Hermione looked so horrified that he knew she was no longer thinking about the sprog in the tree branches above their heads. Or maybe she was thinking about him and was simply outraged at the thought of the Ministry trying to force her to raise him a particular way. George tried to salvage the conversation.

"Do you think Scorpius would enjoy that?" he asked. "A nanny to keep an eye on him all day? A total stranger?"

"A complete stranger – why, I'd never…!" Hermione sputtered and just then the branches above them parted.

"Mummy! I don't want a nanny!" Scorpius whined pitifully and Hermione was genuinely startled to hear his voice. She immediately schooled her face into an expression of sympathy and reassurance.

"Oh, of course not, Scraps!" she said. Then she put her hands her hips. "Wait a minute. What are you doing up there, love? Why, have you been hiding up there this whole time we've been out here?"

Scorpius gave a giggle and started to move back out of sight, but he was close enough that George could reach up and pluck him from the branch upon which he was perched. Hermione watched with a pleased smile and held out her hands, prepared to take him, but George had other plans. The boy gave a single shriek as George tossed him in the air again before settling him atop his shoulders and Hermione gasped before clapping a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, Merlin, George, don't scare me like that, please."

"Just a ride on the shoulders, Hermione. No harm," he said, glancing down at her, but he did secure his hands about Scorpius' legs.

Scorpius leaned over George's head, both hands in his red hair. "Mummy doesn't like me climbing trees," he confessed. "She's scared of heights."

"I don't like it, but I tolerate it. If I didn't you'd do it anyway," she said. She caught George's eyes and glanced away and George knew her sudden quiet was because of Malfoy. After the war he'd gone in for professional Quidditch – been quite successful, too – but his career and his life were over with a single accident. Hermione's eyes were very far away and George knew she was seeing that fall through the air in her mind's eye…Draco's last flight. She had more reasons than a childhood fear to hate heights…and Quidditch. Is it any wonder then that she avoided my entire family for months, he thought.

Scorpius brought her far-away gaze back with a plaintive question.

"You're not going to get a nanny are you, Mummy?"

She looked up at him and then reached up and took one of his hands while the other remained firmly entrenched in George's hair. Not that George was complaining. Remembering what he did about her husband's death, he suddenly felt like he had extremely precious cargo riding on his shoulders. The safer little Scraps was up there the better.

"No, Scraps. No nannies. I promise." She swung his hand a little and he gave a tentative smile.

"I'd miss Nana and Gramps and Grams."

"Oh, love. I know you would. They'd miss you too."

"And you always have to ask me and Minnie first before you decide. Right, Mummy? You promise?"

Hermione laughed. "I already promised, didn't I? No nannies. Your grandparents would miss you two too much."

George hefted Scorpius a little closer and the tyke snuggled around his head – thankfully not obscuring his vision as they walked – and he glanced at her again. "So you don't need to worry about daycare and the like after all?"

"Oh, no," Hermione admitted. "No, they split the weekdays up. My parents only work part of the week now and half days, at that and they offered to take Scraps and Minnie on their two off days. Narcissa insisted she get them the other three days. And every two weeks I worked a Friday or a Monday off into my schedule to give them a break when they need it. It makes my work load a little less easily managed, but my department head has been very…tolerant since things changed."

"Well that's good," George murmured and Hermione nodded. They stopped at the backdoor so George could lift Scorpius back to the ground. The little boy started to scurry into the house when Hermione snagged his collar.

"What do you say?" she asked sternly and he shuffled his feet and looked up at George with a shy smile.

"Thank you," he mumbled. Then he darted forward to give George's legs a huge hug before he dashed off into the house. George smiled after him and glanced down to find Hermione watching him with a funny look on her face.

"He's cute," he offered and she pressed her lips together and nodded again.

"He and his sister are my whole life," she said, then put a hand to one cheek. "Sorry, I suppose every mother feels that way."

"Nah," George responded, that protective feeling rearing up in him again. "Only the really good ones."

Hermione looked up at him again, startled, her cheeks in a full blush. George gave her a gentle smile and reminded himself that she only needed a friend right now. Her life was complicated enough.

Right. Just a friend.

He gave his head a small shake and then gestured at the open doorway, from whence the sounds of a family dinner about to begin were issuing in waves of noise.

"After you, please," he said and Hermione held his gaze a moment longer than necessary. He wondered how obvious it was that his invitation held a double meaning. Then he wondered what was wrong with him, that he was acting like such prat around a pretty woman. In fact, he was acting like Ron…oh. Well, Ron had liked Hermione all those years. Maybe that had been the whole problem. It wasn't that Ron was terrible at girls…it was that Hermione had the power to turn a man into a wriggling worm of a boy.

Then he wondered why he was even still thinking that way when he wasn't going to be pursuing her.

Bugger all.

Hermione ran one of those immaculate hands down his arm again. "Thank you, George."

George was very careful not to swoon and instead followed Hermione when she stepped through the doorway, his head held high. Until he spotted his twin and his baby sister sitting next to one another and exchanging conspiring looks in his direction. _Bugger all._

Over the course of an hour everything had changed and yet nothing had really changed at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Don't own it, make no profit, all rights to JK and co!**

**AN: So, another chapter. I'm pretty in love with George at the moment, not gonna lie. How do you all like him? I'm sort of going from Hermione's pov at this point. I hope all seems...not too ooc. (Then again, as I love to point out, it's fanfiction! Everything is technically ooc!)**

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><p><em>"Scraps, sit still, please, love? Look, Scraps! There's Daddy! Can you see him? Wave – oh! Not your mittens again, really? Hold still now, I'll get them."<em>

_Hermione held the wriggling two year old on her lap firmly as she reached down to pick up the mittens from the floor of the box. A few sharp cries reached her ears as she hunted for the second mitten and then the entire stadium went silent. Hermione straightened up and began to help her son's tiny hands back into his mittens as she glanced about to find the source of the silence, why the stadium had been captivated. Was it a goal? Usually there was cheering when it was a goal…the mittens fell to the floor again, forgotten._

_"Draco?" Hermione knew it was her voice, but it sounded strange to her ears, high and breathy. She stood abruptly, her son sliding off her lap to land on his feet. He stared up at his distracted, distraught mother and tugged on her pant leg._

_"Mama?" he repeated over and over, but Hermione could barely hear herself as the seconds ticked by…as she watched her husband's tiny form plummet to the ground._

_The safety spells, she thought. Surely there are safety spells in place…and she remembered all the tumbles her friends had taken off their brooms in school, all the spills she'd seen at Quidditch games since then and she knew that no net would magically appear. One hand slipped in the pocket where she kept her wand, knowing that if she could only cast the right spell she could save him – except they were in a protected box. Her spell would never reach him. Horror and helplessness descended on her._

_Her son tugged at her harder and his little voice finally penetrated her thoughts._

_"Dada?" he was now asking and she looked down at him in time to see that he was as riveted by the sight as she was…and that he was about to see his father die._

_"No, Scorpius! Oh, no, love!" she gasped and immediately scooped him up in her arms and pressed his face into her shoulder. He tried to twist around to watch the action again, but Hermione kept one hand firmly on his head as she watched the ghastly sight for the both of them._

_It was all over in seconds; he was out of sight on the ground. Screams erupted throughout the stadium and the others in the box bolted from their seats, no longer arrested by indecision and ready to act – ready to try and shield her just a heartbeat too late._

_Hermione closed her eyes against the noise. There was no way he could have survived that fall, no way he could be saved. Grief had visited her for a second time and soon hot tears spilled down her ashen cheeks, her arms shaking as she held her son close. The boy twisted about in her arms again. Frightened to see his mother crying and looking so pale, he soon began crying as well._

_"Draco," she mumbled, her face buried in her son's hair. "I hate you. You foul man! You foul…" Her useless insults broke down into sobs and she was lost until she felt someone's arm about her shoulders, someone's hand running gently through her hair. But no…that wasn't what had happened. No one had dared touch her at first, had they? They were all too lost, themselves. Then who…_

* * *

><p>Hermione awoke with a start to find Molly Weasley holding her and hushing her.<p>

"There, dear," Molly said softly. "It was just a dream."

Hermione realized she must have fallen asleep on the sofa in the parlor. She sat up quickly and brushed her hands along her cheeks, embarrassed to find them wet with tears.

"I'm sorry," she said and Molly shook her head.

"Don't worry, Hermione," she said. "A few tears are nothing to be ashamed of. Who was it?" she asked, reaching over and fluffing the pillow behind Hermione's back.

Hermione shrugged uncomfortably, but at Molly's kind, firm glance, she gave way. "Draco," she said quietly and Molly tutted and ran a hand over Hermione's hair again.

"You poor dear," she murmured. Her face brightened some. "Why don't you come have some tea in the kitchen," she suggested, it being the Weasley universal remedy.

"Oh, but what time is it?" Hermione asked, worried. She saw it was dark out already and she had work the next day. Molly shook her head.

"I'm not letting you leave without some tea. Arthur's gone to bed early and the babies are all upstairs napping together, but Harry and Ginny are still here, as are George, Bill and Fleur. You're not imposing at all. Now come along, I insist."

"But then…where is everyone?" Hermione asked just as she heard a door open. Sounds of quiet laughter and conversation drifted into the parlor for a moment and then the door closed.

"Mum?" George called from the kitchen and Hermione stood up with Molly, brushing her cheeks again. She turned to rearrange the pillows she'd lain upon and Molly stopped her.

"They're fine," she said. "Nothing special." She called back to George. "We're in here, love. I was just seeing to Hermione."

"Oh, is she joining us? Wonderful!" George replied as he appeared in the doorway.

He gave Hermione a look that she was certain she'd seen directed at other witches when he'd been in school and it made her stomach turn in a funny way. She smoothed her skirt and started to brush at her cheeks again, but thought better of it. Folding her hands at her waist, she smiled at him slightly.

"Did you have a good nap?" he asked her and she shrugged again.

"I'm sorry I disappeared on you all."

"You hardly disappeared," he scoffed. "We all knew where you were. Hard not to when you fell asleep at the dinner table."

"I didn't!" Hermione exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand, utterly mortified. Molly frowned at George.

"You stop that, George," she said sternly. "Now come along to the kitchen. Hermione isn't joining you, not right away. We were about to have some tea."

"And I'm not invited?" George inquired sweetly and his mother sniffed and gave him a curious glance.

"Not if you're going to give Hermione a hard time."

George smiled and gave his Mum a kiss on the cheek as he preceded them into the kitchen.

"Thanks, Mum, I'll be on my best behavior, I swear."

"Oh, you," Molly said and exchanged a smile and a wink with Hermione, who let out a sudden laugh and covered her mouth again. Hermione settled at the kitchen table as Molly began to bustle at the stove. George sat nearby, not right beside her as he had at dinner, and she looked across the table at him.

"I didn't really fall asleep at the table," she said and he grinned.

"Nearly," he insisted. "One minute you were trying to hold a conversation with Dad about the newest Ministry regulations and the next you were about to take a nosedive into your pudding." He winked at her. "Mum made me carry you out to the parlor."

"You didn't!" Hermione gasped and she covered her eyes. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry. I knew I was feeling tired this afternoon, but I didn't think…Merlin, I'm so embarrassed."

"Nah," George replied. "Don't be. I'd been meaning to work out this weekend anyhow."

Hermione's jaw dropped and her face turned a bright red. "George Weasley!" she exclaimed and she would've reached across the table to smack him, but Molly beat her to it.

"You can leave if you're going to make jokes like that, young man," she said sternly and whapped her son again with the tea cozy.

George ducked his head, grinning madly and Hermione pressed her lips together in an effort not to laugh and Molly whapped him with the kitchen implement several more times. The sight was too much for Hermione and her efforts failed miserably. A few seconds later she was holding her sides, she was laughing so much. Molly finally realized what she was seeing and instead of beating George uselessly, she ruffled his hair and returned to making tea. Hermione wiped at her eyes, glad to be crying tears of joy for once, and she glanced at George. He was arguing with his mother, who was valiantly ignoring his pleas for a cup of tea as his punishment.

Hermione let out another unexpected giggle and he turned his head.

"Sorry, Hermione," he said. "I couldn't help myself."

"I'll let you off this time," she replied, schooling her face into an austere expression – her best prefect look. George pretended to shudder.

"Oi, don't report me, please. Oh, please?" he whinged.

"I think you've already gotten yourself into enough trouble," she said and then smiled again. There was an awkward moment, where they were smiling at one another stupidly and Hermione broke it first, staring at the table, then up at Molly. She cleared her throat.

"I remember leaving the table with Ginny at one point – between dinner and dessert. We checked on Minnie and Al again," she said and Molly turned from the stove, tea kettle in hand.

"That's right, dear," she said. "You went upstairs – Fleur, too. Let's see, where did everyone else go…George? You went out back, didn't you?"

"We had a quick game," he said. He paused to accept a cup of tea and watched Molly hand another off to Hermione. He flicked his eyes back to his own cup quickly upon finding his mother watching him. "Erm," he mumbled, "I dunno where everyone else went."

"Card games in the living room," Hermione recalled. "And then dessert."

"That's right," Molly replied, settling herself at the table as well. "These dinners do tend to go on, don't they?" she mused and Hermione snorted softly. Molly didn't seem to notice, but George looked at her from across the table, his mouth in a crooked grin. Hermione glanced at him and bit her lip momentarily before sipping her tea, a small smile on her face. Molly went on, apparently happily unaware of the strange interplay between her wayward son and Hermione. "But I adore having them. Everyone together again, all the family, our friends. I think it's very important. That's how I was raised, and it's how I've tried to raise you children. Family comes first."

"The ties that bind," Hermione suggested.

"The family that eats together stays together," responded George. Molly pursed her lips and smacked him again.

"You! And when are you going to realize what's important, hmm? Letting your brother steal your fiancée. It's absolutely shameful, George. I can't believe I raised you," she scoffed and George shrugged, his good mood suddenly gone. Hermione gave him a sympathetic glance and darted her eyes to Molly's teasing visage. She knew the woman meant well, but she could tell that George took what she said seriously, and that it hurt him. She thought quickly.

"Fleur confessed to Ginny and I earlier that Bill wants another baby – has either of them talked to you at all?" she directed at Molly, whose mouth dropped in pleasure.

"No, they haven't! Well? What did she tell you?"

"Just that they'd been trying," Hermione said, sipping her tea again and Molly started in on the prospect of more grandchildren. Hermione peeked at George, who was watching her with a bemused expression on his face. Thank you, he mouthed at her and she dared wink at him before turning her attention on Molly and listening raptly. The back door swung open and Harry trooped inside, followed quickly by Ginny, Fleur and Bill. Molly immediately set in upon Fleur and Bill about their baby plans and Fleur rolled her eyes at Hermione, but gladly bore Molly's questions. Ginny took one look at Hermione and George and then tapped her friend on the shoulder.

"Are you alright?" she asked while Harry and Bill took up the seats to either side of George and began badgering him about gossiping with the women over tea.

"I'm fine," Hermione said. She stretched a bit and then hunched over her teacup again. A sudden thought struck her and she wrinkled her nose. "George didn't really carry me to the parlor in the middle of dessert, did he?" she murmured and Ginny shook her head.

"You really were out of it earlier, weren't you? Oh, Hermione. Not only did he carry you, you accidentally tried to take your pudding with you. Got half of it on his shirt and the rest on the floor."

Hermione ducked her head, her cheeks flaming and her eyes wide. "Oh, no," she muttered.

"Oh, yes," Ginny said. "And Scorpius…oh, but Mum said I shouldn't…"

"No, Ginny, tell me – did Scraps have another nightmare? What happened?"

Ginny looked rather embarrassed. "He- well, he came in from the kids' table and saw you with George. He was a bit upset. I think he thought George was trying to hurt you, or take you away or something like that…and then the rest of the pudding exploded."

Hermione looked aghast. "All the pudding?" she asked in as quiet and controlled a manner as possible. Ginny quickly reassured her.

"Oh, no, just the rest of your pudding. The stuff that fell on the floor, well…it somehow made its way onto the rest of George. All the bits not already covered in pudding. And…it missed you."

Hermione covered her face with her hands and groaned and Ginny patted her shoulder.

"It was nothing, really, easily dealt with by a few spells, and Harry even admired it – said his own magic when he was a kid was never so neat. Only George felt a bit bad at first, but Percy managed to catch hold of him before he could run away and once we'd cleaned George up and he'd put you in the parlor, he took him outside and had a talk with him."

Hermione peered at Ginny through her fingers. "He did?" she asked and Ginny nodded.

"Scorpius – er, sorry, Scraps – seemed fine after that. He was a bit embarrassed, himself. He felt bad about the pudding, but George set him straight, told him it was alright. He even sat with him for a while before he went upstairs with James. "

Hermione peered at George next, who was looking rather disgruntled, cornered as he was between his nesting older brother and Harry, who was as nuts about children and family as Molly. She allowed herself a small smile and looked back to Ginny, who was watching her with the same curious expression Molly had used on George.

"So they got along ok?" she asked and when Ginny nodded, she went on. "Scraps does that…he never means to hurt anyone and he always feels terrible when his magic misbehaves. He pretty much attaches himself to the victim afterwards to convince them and himself that he genuinely likes them and isn't a bad person."

"I figured as much," Ginny replied. "He's had it tough for a while, then?"

"Well, it's been nearly a year since anything happened, really. It's always…about me. Sometimes Minnie," Hermione admitted. "I know it's because of Draco," she finished softly. "I know he worries more than he should have to, at his age."

Ginny took Hermione's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Do you think it would be better or worse for him to be around us regularly?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, you were right, Ginny. He needs to be around people, children his own age. He needs to see me with other people. It will help him adjust. Maybe I haven't been doing the right thing this last year, staying away…but it all got to be too much, Ginny. I'm sorry, but please try to understand."

"I have been trying – or rather, I wasn't trying hard enough before – and I'm the one who's sorry, Hermione. You were perfectly right to deal with my interference however you saw fit. It wasn't my business then and it still isn't. I know you're not having an easy time of it. But that's why I thought maybe if you were with us, and made new friends…"

"I barely have time for my old friends," Hermione said and sighed. "But they're more than enough for me, anyhow. Thank you for not giving up on us, Ginny. I'm glad you dragged that promise out of me."

Ginny gave Hermione a teary grin and pulled her into a hug. "I'm glad you don't hate me for it. You will come again, right? Every week?"

"I'll try," Hermione allowed and hugged her friend back fiercely. They were interrupted by Harry leaning across the table and resting a hand on Ginny's arm.

"I reckon we should collect ours and head out now, if that's alright with you. It's getting on."

Ginny checked the clock in the corner and nodded. "Nearly nine – you're right. Both of us have an early start." She looked at Hermione. "You too, I imagine?"

Hermione nodded regretfully. "It's true. And tomorrow is a Gramps and Grams Granger day which means an even earlier alarm."

"Still don't have them connected to the Floo?" Harry inquired as the three of them stood and Hermione shook her head.

"They would prefer not and I really don't blame them."

"Is everything alright there?" George asked, slipping away from his mother's interrogation of Fleur and Bill to join them. Bill gave him the evil eye and he just grinned and turned back to the trio.

Hermione gave him a thoughtful look, realizing that he was referring to the initial falling out she'd had with her parents when she'd reversed her memory charms. Her gaze softened, touched as she was that he'd remembered all that. They'd hardly been the best of friends, after all, and that had been so soon after the war…

"Yes, it is…thank you for asking, George," she murmured. George glanced back at the table once again as Harry and Ginny started up the stairs to the makeshift nursery and Hermione followed his gaze, but quickly pretended to be inspecting the clock again when he turned back.

"So, you're leaving, then?" he asked her, drawing her attention away from the apparently fascinating time device.

"I – yes, I believe so," she replied. "I've really overstayed myself. What with the pudding and all," she added, her cheeks a bright pink although she kept a smile on her face. George looked at her carefully, trying to see what she meant by it. He determined she was trying to apologize and put up a hand.

"It's ok, Hermione. Don't worry about any of it. I had a lovely time. Been a while since I was covered in pudding. Gave me an idea for a product, as a matter of fact. Do you think Scraps will sell me the rights?"

Hermione bit her lower lip and quite missed the way the tips of George's ears turned pink.

"I think he might be talked into it," she said. "It might take a few ice creams, though."

"Ah, a hard sell. That's alright, you just tell him to let me know when and I'm there. I'm good for it."

Hermione laughed at that and was about to respond when Harry and Ginny trooped back down the stairs, each holding a small child. Harry pretended not to notice anything while Ginny looked between them slyly.

"Well, we're off," Ginny announced to the room, rather than pursue that particular topic – no matter how curious she was.

Molly, Bill and Fleur immediately stood and everyone began making the round of goodbyes and last minute conversations and mundane pleasantries that would extend the farewells for at least another fifteen minutes. Hermione decided to sneak upstairs in the meantime and George followed her.

"Let me help you," he said quietly, leaning close to her as they made their way up the stairs.

Hermione froze. In the dark confines of the stairwell, with George's breath tickling across her cheek and his tall frame sheltering her, she felt completely exposed. It wasn't a new feeling, by any means, but to have it now, after she'd been married and widowed; after she'd had two children and was trying to balance career and family and barely managing; after she'd been so certain she'd never feel with anyone the way she'd felt with Ron…it was astonishing and she felt her breath leave her in a great, big whoosh. Or at least she thought it had left her, but what really happened was that she stopped short and George turned to look at her; and when confronted with him leaning over her while concerned, his eyes shining in the dim light; and this being the Burrow, with all the smells and sounds therein…she swallowed thickly and marched on ahead of him. She was Hermione Granger-Malfoy, after all. She was strong, she was capable, and she was not about to let her knees give out just because her body had suddenly realized that she wasn't dead and her nerve endings did exist.

"So," she said, broaching conversation again, "you had a nice time with him earlier?"

"Oh, yeah," George said. "Me and Scraps get along famously. In fact, just between you and me, I think he might be a Weasley."

"Well he is technically related to you all," Hermione said with a grin.

George grinned back at her. "True enough. But you know, I really wouldn't mind seeing more of him. Did I hear you tell Ginny you'll be joining us regularly for these fiascos?"

"You heard correctly," she confirmed, then stopped before a closed door. "Well, here we are. Have you met Minnie yet?"

"Not since she could was a wee sprog, before she learned to talk – and I have it on good authority from Ginny that she does know how, is that right?"

Hermione gave him a rueful smile. "She does, but it's rare. Scraps is the orator in the family, I'm afraid. Minnie prefers to make herself understood in actions rather than words."

"I imagine you're quite fluent in pudding, then," George whispered as Hermione pushed inside the room. She flashed him a grin over her shoulder.

"And rice…and oatmeal…and anything else that's gooey and relatively fluid."

George stifled a laugh and followed her into the dim room. A play of bright stars swirled about the ceiling and walls and they could just pick out two shining heads of pale blonde hair. Hermione ran a hand over Scorpius' sleeping form tenderly before she reached for the tot snoozing away beside him. She hefted the chubby faced, curly haired girl in her arms and George started to reach for Scorpius, but Hermione stopped him by holding out her daughter to him.

"George, meet Minerva Rose," she murmured and insisted he take her. She helped tuck the sleeping tot into his arms and leaned over and kissed the girl's forehead and cheeks before drawing away. She was looking from George to Minnie proudly, like she'd just introduced him to a founder of Hogwarts. Except that was silly – such a fuss over a baby.

He looked down at the little girl in his arms, ready to accept her because she was Hermione's, but not expecting anything other than a cute kid who was a match for her brother. She yawned and shifted in his arms, her hands resting on his chest, one cheek turned tight against him as she dozed on, her little nose wrinkling adorably, and her curls frizzing bigger than she was...and he understood what that look on Hermione's face meant.

Merlin, he was in love.

His jaw dropped open and he was cooing at the precious thing before he could stop himself.

"Well, hello, love! Hi, Minerva, I'm your Uncle Georgie. Oh, you don't care at all, do you, no, you're just sleeping away, completely unaware, blissfully ignorant. No, as long as someone's got you tucked up in his arms you're happy as a goblin, aren't you? Oh, you're too precious. You know what? A face like that and you'd better be careful – ah! What's that? Why are you wrinkling your nose more? Have you got a tickle in your ickle nose? Is that it? Is it? Aw, come along then, love. I'll take you on down. Your mother wants to take you home, yes she does..."

Hermione scooped up her son and followed George down the stairs carefully, listening to him chatter on at Minnie's sleeping form that way the entire time. She was smiling smugly and stroking her son's hair when they got to the bottom and George finally thought to turn around and look for her. Only by then, everyone in the kitchen had already heard George's ardent coos.

"Alright there, George?" Bill asked from across the room and George glared up at him.

"Shh! You'll wake her!" he hissed and promptly turned his attentions back to the wee thing. He held her snug against him with one arm, her little feet dangling at his side, and he held one of her small fists in his other hand, felt her fingers curl about one of his.

His chest tightened in a particular manner and he glanced up at Hermione to find her standing there expectantly, Scorpius in her arms, his head leaned against her shoulder. She hefted her son a bit with those immaculate hands of hers and then managed to reach over and rest a hand briefly on his arm.

"I can take them both," she began and was immediately silenced by a chorus of protests from around the room.

"Nonsense," said Ginny. "What else has George got to do?"

"George can help you out, dear," Molly said.

"I'll bet he can do more than that," Harry muttered under his breath.

"I'm sure George would love to help you," Bill volunteered, his voice carrying over the others as Fleur went up the stairs herself to collect their own babies. Bill followed his wife and paused by George to lean close to him almost…menacingly, Hermione thought. She decided it had been a very strange evening.

"You really aren't doing anything else, after all…are you?" Bill inquired sweetly and George flushed a bit and bounced the tot in his arms gently.

"Not a bit," he announced, avoiding everyone's gaze – particularly his mother's. He glanced back at Hermione. "Are you Flooing?"

"I – yes," she said, hesitating only a moment before she belatedly drew her hand away from him and headed for the fireplace. Molly stopped her to give her a hug and Harry and Ginny merely waved.

"It was lovely having you, dear. You come back now; you're welcome any time. Any time at all," she whispered fervently, then gave her a kiss on the cheek and one for Scorpius as well. She laid a hand on George's arm in passing, much as Hermione had, and he gave his mother a tight smile. Molly sighed happily as she watched them both Floo away to Hermione's home, their precious bundles held close. Then she turned back to the room, saw Ginny watching her with an equally suspicious grin, and clapped her hands.

"Now, now," she said. "Let's not get our hopes up."

Harry rolled his eyes and decided holding a conversation with James would make more sense than everything that had occurred that evening, while Ginny and Molly continued to exchange not-so-cryptic remarks about Hermione and a certain ginger, single wizard.

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><p><strong>AN: I just want to explain something briefly to you all before you get all confused. It's hard to lay it all out there without giving away bits that I'll be explaining in the next few chapters, but for your sakes I'll try. If you see me describe Hermione as thinking she'd never feel about anyone the way she had about Ron, I mean just that. Remember, she married Draco out of necessity and while she may have come to be fond of him (and even love him) and built a life with him, Ron was her crazy, teenaged, hormone fueled love. That's all I mean when I refer to her feelings about Ron, rather than Draco.<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own HP, never have, never will, no profit made here, all rights to JK and co.**

**AN: Finally, another chapter! Sorry for the delay, people. Tumblr ate my soul like the dementor it is and then the hurricane stole my power. Literally. Take that as you will. ;)**

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><p>George stayed longer than he should've, probably, but it had been such a lovely evening and it had been so easy to just offer to help the tykes into bed once he was already in her home that he ended up…lingering. Even without worrying about baths and just uttering some basic cleansing spells it took several minutes to get both of them changed and settled into their respective beds. Then, of course, once they were down there was straightening up to be done and a nightlight set to rights and a lullaby to be sung.<p>

George hadn't been expecting the lullaby. The sound of soft singing filtering from the open doorway made him pause in his way back down the hall from the loo, where he'd been disposing of one of the less than savory aspects of childrearing. Rather than disturb a mother at her work, he stopped outside and leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets, and he listened. She had an average voice and she could carry a tune, fortunately, but there was a soft, sweet quality to her singing that warmed him all over as he imagined the tots in their beds, being lulled by the magic of their mother's voice. Wasn't that the way with all children, he thought. To desire their mother's voice, to long for gentle words and sweet melodies.

Go on, Georgie, he thought to himself. Make a fool of yourself over this woman. There's no room in her life for you except as a friend. There's no room in your life for much else either, is there? Except…oh, except he thought he could very easily make room for a witch whose greatest joy in life was to sing to her children as they drifted off to dreamland.

He'd surprised himself, there was no doubt of it. The last thing he'd ever expected from an evening with Hermione Granger-Malfoy and company was a pair of immaculate hands and delicate feet and a low, sweet song. He'd been prepared to see her as the busy, bossy woman she'd been when his brother had loved her. When he'd never given her a second glance except to make fun of Ron and the way he'd mooned over her. Then again, hadn't he? Ginny had tried to call him on it the other day. She'd pointed out that when Hermione had finally made the choice to submit her name to a matchmaker, he'd been single as well. And so maybe he had thought of helping her out then…but no. She'd been Ron's girl, through and through. And then Malfoy had laid claim to her like she was a bleeding snitch, no matter how sickly the smile on Hermione's face had been every time their wedding had come up in conversation. No, he'd missed any chance of helping her out and besides, he hadn't truly wanted to help. He'd still been dealing with Fred at that point and getting the business back on its feet and they'd all been so overwhelmed in the years immediately following the war that when Hermione had finally succumbed to the Ministry's manipulations, stepping in to offer for her had been the furthest thing from his mind.

That wasn't to say he had never appreciated how she'd grown into her looks, or how brilliant she was, how brave. He thought she was right up there with his Mum, and Ginny, and Fleur – with Professor McGonagall, even. One of the best witches he'd ever know, or ever care to know.

So why would she ever want him?

Oh, Merlin, he thought. Now I'm just depressing myself. And I can't even go home and drink because tomorrow's a work day. But gods, could I use one…

The singing stopped and then Hermione exited the room, pulling the door to ever so gently. George glanced over at her, a crooked smile on his face and feeling extremely awkward.

"That was lovely," he said and she gave a small start, as if she'd forgotten he was even there. She puffed out some air that might've been a laugh and shrugged.

"Just an old Muggle song," she said with a small smile and he pushed away from the wall to walk back down the stairs with her, towards the kitchen.

"Yeah? Did your mum sing it to you?"

"My grandmother," she said.

"Well, it was lovely."

"Well, thanks," she replied, imitating him. His grin spread a little wider and she found herself smiling back. "Just don't try to be sweet and tell me I have a wonderful voice."

They walked into the kitchen together and George shook his head quickly. "Never, Hermione. You don't have to worry about that, I promise." He gave a mock shudder and she smacked his arm.

"Oi, watch it," she said, but she was laughing and he found himself laughing as well. She reached for the tea kettle.

"I…well, this is when I have a cup of tea, generally," she said and shook the kettle to judge how much water was in it.

"Yes," George said as she turned back to him. She paused.

"I'm sorry?"

"Yes, I'll have a cup too," he said and settled onto a barstool at the center island. Her jaw dropped.

"Did I ask you?"

"You were about to," he said smugly. "Come on, Hermione, I changed a nappy for you. I think the least you can do is…"

"Alright!" she said, laughing again. "Cheek," she muttered and set a gentle warming spell over the kettle.

He watched her bustle about pulling cups from the shelves and spoons from a drawer for a minute, then let his gaze wander. It wouldn't do to stare at her too much. Pulll yourself together, Georgie, he told himself. What are you, some teenager? And what is she, a rebound? Not that he'd even cared for Angelina that much, though he certainly had to admit it would've been easy enough to just fall in love with her and marry her – leave Freddie out of the picture altogether. But no, he'd done the right thing. Just like reminding himself very firmly that he only wanted to be friends with Hermione was the right thing to do. Why, he barely knew her after all this time…

"There you are," Hermione said, plunking a sturdy mug down in front of him. George gave her his most charming smile and wrapped his hands around the mug, his fingers brushing hers accidentally.

"Thanks, love," he said and he didn't miss how she snatched her hands back and bustled about getting her own cup with far more fervor than was entirely necessary.

"My pleasure," she replied, her back still turned. "Thank you for helping me tonight. It's not always so easy to get them tucked away. Sometimes I forget…"

"What's that?" George asked, blowing on his tea some. She shrugged and finally turned back to him, leaning against a counter, her mug in her hands.

"The difference an extra pair of hands can make."

She said it matter-of-factly, but there was a weary sadness behind her words that tugged at his heart just like every other part of her had. This time it was different, though, and his sympathy was born of shared disappointments, and not because he wanted to comfort her. Well. He still wanted to do that, but not because she was a beautiful woman. Instead, he wanted to simply because he was there and she needed it and he thought he understood a very little how she felt just then. The poor witch looked like she hadn't had a proper hug for ages. A hug that said, let me hold you for a while – I'll keep you warm, and safe, and you can cry if you need to, or fall asleep in my arms, or just enjoy a moment of stillness with me…but either way, I have you. I have you and I'm not letting go.

"Well, you've my hands any time you need them," he said in lieu of that hug and Hermione looked up at him, surprised. She flushed with…pleasure, George thought, and smiled at him. He was awfully glad he could at least make her smile.

"Thank you, George, that's very kind of you. But I'm sure you've other things you could be taking care of than –"

"The children of an old family friend? Don't be absurd. You know I like kids and besides, apart from work and the foundation I really don't have anything else to do. And before you go protesting, let me assure you I'd be happy to help even if I had a hundred other things to do."

Hermione found herself stunned into silence – out argued for the first time in a very long time. She focused on her tea for a few moments before glancing at him again.

"The thing is, George, you may like children very much and yes, your work at the foundation has been – it is so admirable and you've done an amazing job with that, you and Fred both. But having children of one's own is quite different. And promising to help out whenever I need it is sweet, but I don't think you really understand just how much work it is…"

"Hermione. Look at me. I just spent the day with my family, chasing the boys and dancing with the girls and wiping pudding off my face and now I'm here, with you, after gladly changing nappies. Do you really think I don't understand what it's like? Have you forgotten how many siblings I have?"

"Yes, but…"

"No, Hermione. It's ok. I'm having fun. I don't go to the pub, I don't go on dates, and I really don't plan on having a family of my own. In light of that, there's not much I'd rather be doing than helping you and the rest of my nutters family."

Hermione nibbled on her lower lip some and sipped her tea quietly, looking extremely thoughtful.

"Well," she finally said, "ok. You really want me to rely on you?"

"Who else in the family is there?" he asked in return. "Everyone else is pretty busy. Look, I know you have your in-laws and your parents now, too, but if you ever need an extra pair of hands, Floo, or Owl, or…I can even get a telly-phony."

Hermione burst out laughing and George frowned.

"What, did I get that wrong again?" he asked, scratching his head, but a moment later he felt his own lips curve into a grin when she kept laughing.

"It's telephone," she said, "but it's fine. A common mistake for wizards, so I'm told."

George propped his chin on one hand and watched her as she continued to giggle to herself over her tea.

"So that's a yes, then?" he asked and she glanced at him.

"Hmm?"

"You'll add me to your list of trusted babysitters?" he prompted and she hesitated before giving a short nod and smiling into her tea.

"I will. But don't start complaining the minute I call you at two in the morning because I have to make an emergency room visit at Mungo's and need someone to watch Scraps."

"Scraps?" George asked. "You mean it's Minnie I'm to worry over?"

Hermione shrugged and raised her brows. "What can I say? I do my best with those safety spells, but…do you know, last week I walked into her room during naptime to find she'd kicked three rungs from the side of her crib and had escaped?"

George grinned madly. "No! Had she gone far?"

Hermione shook her head. "That was the pisser –"

She paused, giving a gasping laugh at the memory whilst George tried not to choke on the sip of tea he'd just had upon hearing Hermione say 'pisser' and listened as attentively as possible.

"– she'd only crawled as far as her toy box and was calmly throwing blocks about as if it was a complete lark!"

George laughed aloud at that and Hermione returned his smile.

"You see what I mean?"

"She's an angel, though," he said and her smile grew sly.

"Yes, everyone noticed what you thought of her."

George flushed and shrugged. "Nah, I can't help it if she takes after her mum."

It was Hermione's turn to flush and she looked as if she wanted to say something, but held herself in check. George eyed her askance, quickly turning back to his tea when she caught his eye. Down, Georgie, he growled inwardly. Merlin, but it looked like he'd need to get sloshed tonight after all.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said, finally finding her voice again. "She looks exactly like her father. They both do."

"Not her," he replied immediately. "She has your curls. And your eyes."

"She's been asleep, George, you can't possibly –"

"She woke up long enough to let me know what she thought of my changing her rather than her mum," he insisted and Hermione flushed.

"Back to the nappies, are we?" she asked, ready to argue and George seemed to realize he'd accidentally hit a nerve.

So, he thought. That's the real reason she doesn't want help. She feels like it's an imposition, like she should be able to take care of it all herself since she's the one who got herself into this mess in the first place. She genuinely loathes the idea that someone else had to touch her daughter's dirty diaper – not because she's a prude, but because she feels it's her job. Hermione flushed even more as he watched her and he realized he'd been staring at her for several seconds without speaking.

"Well," he said, coming to himself, "that's my cue to leave."

"What?" Hermione asked and he smiled ruefully.

"Staring into space like a nutter. It's been a full day, Hermione. I'm sure you need to get some rest as well."

"Oh, I won't go to bed for another hour at least," she murmured as she took his empty tea mug and rinsed it out quickly in the sink. He stopped short and stared at her.

"After the day you've had? Hermione, you fell asleep at a Weasley dinner. Do you know how tired you'd have to be in order to ignore us and pass out that way?"

She gave him a wan smile and shook her head. "I'm fine. It's just Scraps…" She waved a hand and began to explain just as a cry sounded from upstairs. Hermione fixed George with a look.

"See what I mean?" she asked. She pointed to the room across the hall from the kitchen as she walked out the door and headed for the stairs. "You know where the Floo is," she called softly over her shoulder. "I'll see you again soon, George, and thank you."

George watched her walk up the stairs, and a curious expression on his face, and he crossed his arms and leaned back against the doorframe, watching until she was up the stairs and out of sight. He was still there when she came back down fifteen minutes later. She paused on the steps, startled at the sight of him watching her so seriously.

"George!" she exclaimed and he smiled.

"That wasn't much of a goodbye earlier," he said and she flushed. Those immaculate hands fluttered about her waist again in distress.

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just I had to…"

"I understand," he said. Hermione gave him a slightly perturbed glance as she brushed past him, back into the kitchen. He stayed where he was, keeping an eye on her and listening out for any noise from upstairs. "Does this happen often?" he asked quietly and she gave one short nod.

"Every night, just about," she murmured. "It's…Draco." She gave a shaky sigh. "Scraps was there with me, the night…I did my best to keep him from seeing anything, but I'm so scared, sometimes. What if I didn't cover his eyes soon enough? He already has nightmares and it's possible that I, that it wasn't enough, my sheltering him. What if…what if he sees them, when he goes to school?"

Understanding dawned on George and he felt his heart break a little for the woman before him.

"The Thestrals," he said and Hermione nodded again. He hesitated, then pushed away from the frame and walked over to her. He leant over the island and then slowly, carefully placed one large, calloused hand over her smaller, graceful one. "And Minnie?" he asked when she didn't draw her hand away. "Does she…?"

She shook her head and took a sip of her tea, though she kept her eyes trained on their hands.

"No," she said. "She was too young. I left her with Narcissa that night. It was the first time I'd agreed to leave her with a sitter because it was…the opening game of the season and…Draco had just been…promoted." Her voice broke and she hurried on, as if she had to explain things, as if she'd kept it all in so long that it was all begging to be poured out to someone, anyone. "He wanted me there, me and Scraps. Wanted us to see him, he was so proud of us and I wanted Scraps to see his father play, really see him – it was the first time…oh, _gods_."

Much to Hermione's embarrassment, she broke down entirely and was sobbing into her tea before she realized what was happening. To cry in front of someone who wasn't her mother, or Narcissa? It felt so shameful. She was supposed to be strong, she was supposed to not have fits like a normal person. She had two children who needed her to be strong, damn it, and…she suddenly found herself engulfed in a pair of strong arms. The hand that had previously held hers left it in order to free her mug of tea from her iron grip and set it aside and then she was surrounded by warmth and the smell of sweet potions and wool sweaters, of Fall leaves and broom bristles, of spice and musk and sweat and it was everything she'd missed. It smelled like home, like the Weasleys, like Hogwarts, like Quidditch and she sobbed harder and wondered desperately what was wrong with her.

George held her trembling frame safe in his arms, held her close, tucking her head beneath his chin and he let her cry. He didn't make any other moves except to gently run one hand over her back in a soothing motion every few minutes. His heart was beating hard for the girl he'd known, for the woman he held now and he wished he could help her more. More than offering to watch her children, more than giving her a shoulder to cry on, more than being a friend.

"There, love," he murmured after some time had passed and her sobs had died down to sniffles and hiccups. She tried to pull away and he gently held her in place against him. "No," he said. "Stay. Just relax and let me hold you, for Merlin's sake. It's been long enough, hasn't it? When was the last time you let someone do this for you?" he murmured into her hair and she stilled in his arms. He heard a lengthy sigh escape her and then she leaned back into him.

"Thank you," she whispered and he shook his head.

"I'm happy to," he responded softly, one hand still on her back, stroking her, calming her. She closed her eyes and reveled for a few seconds, at least, in the feel of his wool sweater against her cheek, in the warmth seeping through it from his body, at the smell of him.

"Lovely," she mumbled before she could stop herself and she felt him stiffen some, but he laughed a second later and the sound rumbled through his chest and directly into her ear, warming her from the inside out that time. She felt herself giggle as well and a second later they were both laughing loudly and the tears racing down her cheeks were as far from sadness as they could get. She pulled away from him and he let her go gladly this time, pausing only to pull a handkerchief from his pocket and wipe at her cheeks for her. She nimbly took it from his fingers and wiped her tears away, glancing at him shyly, a stray giggle still escaping her lips every so often.

"Better?" he asked and she nodded. He grinned cheekily. "Well, it's not a word I get called often, but I appreciate it anyhow, Hermione." He winked at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, well don't get used to it," she teased and he nodded solemnly.

"I promise. So will you be alright?" he asked, piercing her with a serious look.

"I…yes. It's just been an emotional evening for me, seeing you all again."

"But you're glad you did."

It wasn't a question, but she answered him anyhow. "Yes. Very glad. And _yes_, before you ask, I promise I'll call you if I need anything from now on."

"Anything at all," he insisted even as she began to usher him from the kitchen. He backed from it, enjoying the way she tried to herd him without actually laying hands on him.

"Yes, anything at all. Now go on – I know you have work tomorrow as well," she said and he grinned easily.

"Ah, yes. But unlike you, I don't take my job seriously."

She settled her know-it-all look on him, her hands on her hips as she watched him take a handful of Floo powder from the dish on her mantle. "That's a lie, George Weasley. With the amount of paperwork and permissions that come across my desk from Wizard Wheezes alone I'd say you were trying to start a bleeding colony!"

"Not were, Hermione – are," he replied, his grin spreading as she threw her hands in the air and growled at him.

"Oh, just go on, you. Thank you for everything, but really – go home, George."

"Right, going," he said. He hesitated though, even as he stepped into the fireplace. He turned to look at her. "Sure you're ok?"

"Do I really look that terrible?" she asked, suddenly apprehensive. He looked her over one last time.

"Just…tired, Hermione. You look awfully tired. And if Mum's been worrying over you, that means the rest of us worry."

Hermione was touched and she impulsively reached out and squeezed his arm reassuringly.

"That's because I am tired, George. But yes, I'm fine. I'll be ok."

Despite looking half as though he didn't believe her, George nodded and a second later he was gone in a flash of green flames. Hermione clasped her arms about herself, remembering what it had felt like to let him hold her.

Lovely, she mouthed. And it had been. It had been perfect, it had been everything she'd missed the most. For all Draco's faults as a lover or a husband, he'd known how to hold her, how to let the silence stand, to speak for him – to make her feel beautiful and loved with a single touch, regardless of any hard words or harder memories. She _missed_ him. Two years out and she reckoned she would never stop missing him…but George had eased that feeling, if only for a few minutes.

And now she missed George.

You're being ridiculous, Hermione, she told herself firmly. One day with a wizard and you're ready to jump him like some silly schoolgirl. Fortunately you're a grown woman. Fortunately you know that love only leads to heartache, one way or the other. Sniffing, she turned from the room and waved a hand, shutting the lights off as she walked back to the kitchen to clear away her tea things.

A cry sounded from upstairs and she dropped her mug in the sink. It clanked loudly and she stared down at it blankly for a moment before she turned and left the kitchen as well, shutting down more lights. The tea things would have to wait till morning. It seemed it was going to be a long night and she needed to be upstairs and closer to her babies…closer to the people who truly needed her now.

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><p><strong>AN: They are just...so sweet here, I can't take it. I love writing things like this - that's a good sign, right? Means I'm finally letting go of some of my bitterness? Or maybe I'm just PMSing. Could be that, since I started to cry as I was typing her memories of Draco. )<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own any part of the HP franchise, all rights to JK, WB and Scholastic, no profit made here.**

**AN: Finally, another chapter! My favorite season has arrived , ladies and gents - Autumn! There's a crispness in the air and the smell of fireplaces in use already. I adore it. :) And I hope you adore this chapter! Sorry for the wait. If you like, you can check out the character-death fic prequel I wrote at reviewer's encouragement. It's a oneshot about Ron, and Hermione's reaction immediately after his death. 'What Breaks Us Apart'. At some point I may write the story of her and Draco too, but for right now I'll focus on getting this romance novel of a fanfiction finished, eh? **

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><p>Hermione woke to the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of a sore throat, a throbbing head, and the caterwauls of an unhappy baby ringing in her ears. With a groan, she sat up and squinted at the bright light slipping from behind her window shades. She knew instantly that she'd overslept.<p>

"I feel like utter crap," she declared, as if acknowledging it were the first step in fighting it. Then she dragged herself from the bed and padded over to the connecting door to the nursery. Glancing in, she found Scorpius with his hands on the bars of Minerva's crib. He was incredibly distressed and when he heard the door open he turned round to face his mother. He was crying.

"Mummy! She won't stop and I don't know what to do! You were s-sleeping and I didn't know what…to do…_uuungh_!"

Hermione immediately moved into the room , bending down to drop a swift kiss on her son's head.

"It's ok, Scraps, I'm up now. Why don't you start getting changed while I take care of Minnie, ok?"

He nodded and wiped his cheeks and Hermione kissed him again and gave him a hug. Minerva had calmed down considerably at the sight of her mother and she was standing in her crib now, eyeing Hermione with those big brown eyes George had noticed last night. Hermione reached in under her outstretched arms and lifted her from the crib to give her a large hug.

"Oh, my baby girl. Are you ok? Were you scared when I didn't come in here on time, is that it?"

Minnie buried her face in Hermione's neck and Hermione bounced her some, sliding one hand into her curls to hold her head softly – to hold her safe and warm. The throbbing in her head grew a little dimmer now the crying was over with, but the scratchy throat didn't feel much better. She sighed and kissed Minnie's head, who gurgled a little more happily. Her hands fisted around locks of Hermione's hair and she tugged some before pulling up to stuff the hair in her mouth. Hermione gave her daughter the driest look possible.

"You're two and a half, Munchkin, not one. Stop eating my hair."

Minnie paused and blinked at her mother before opening her mouth slowly. The hair spilled from it, dripping with saliva. Hermione laughed – she couldn't do anything else – and hugged Minnie close again.

"Oh, love, let's get you changed too, hmm? Maybe Scraps will help pick out your clothes, what do you say?"

Minnie smiled slyly and reached for Hermione's hair again while her mother was looking at her brother. She gurgled happily as she stuffed her mother's soft, sweet smelling hair into her mouth. Hermione seemed to remain blissfully unaware of what was going on while her head was turned – that or she'd decided it would be more trouble to care, especially when she was running late and had no idea just how late that was.

She managed to successfully help both her children dress for the day and Scraps ran ahead of his mother, down the stairs to gather up his things for the day – just a small bag of books, and his favorite plush, really. Then she set Minnie in her play pen with a sippy cup, Scraps settled at the table with some dry cereal and his own cup of juice, and took a moment to assess the time. It was already eight o'clock and she knew there was no way she'd make it out to her parents' house in rush hour traffic in time to Apparate to the Ministry for her eight-thirty start.

Blast it all to Hell.

With a sigh, she ran a hand through her thoroughly knotted – and now damp and sticky – curls and gave a small scream of frustration. Only that hurt her throat more and she ended up irritated at herself and the world.

"Who can I call?" she wondered aloud. Her parents driving to her house would take just as long and besides, they wouldn't like being alone in her magical abode all day. She sighed. It wasn't Narcissa's day to take the children and even though she knew the woman would be happy to come out, Hermione felt she'd trespassed on her mother-in-law's kindness far too often in the last two years – especially since she'd been on the outs with the Weasleys. She'd ended up treating Narcissa as a substitute friend half the time and that wasn't fair to either of them – no matter how much she genuinely liked the woman now.

So, neither set of grandparents were an option. That left Ginny and Harry. One of them would be perfectly suited to driving her kids to her parents' home. With a sigh she stuck her head in the fireplace and Flooed her friends' house quickly. She could only pray they hadn't left for work yet.

With a dash of powder the flames came up and Hermione could instantly hear the ruckus that was the Potter household in the mornings.

"Harry, could you – James, you get that out of your brother's mouth this instant!"

"Mummy, it were only a joke!"

"Was, not were, Merlin, has Harry been leaving you with Hagrid again? Harry! Get in here now, please!"

"He's perfectly trustworthy, Gin, calm down. He's one of the best teachers and friends we ever had."

"He buys illegal dragon eggs and hatches them in his basement!"

"James is getting good at dodging the flames," Harry said and Hermione knew he was joking, but she decided to clear her throat and announce herself anyhow. Judging by the tone of Ginny's voice, her friend was about to fly into a true Weasley rage – which was indicative of only one thing. She wondered if Harry knew Ginny was pregnant again. She wondered if Ginny knew. Then she shook her head and interrupted the oncoming tiff.

"Good morning!" she said as brightly as possible. Ginny immediately turned around to see her friend's head poking out of the flames in her fireplace.

"Hermione!" she exclaimed, all joviality again. Then her expression fell. "You sound like utter shite," she said and Harry's jaw dropped as he bounced Albus on one hip.

"Hey! You get after Jamie's grammar and then swear in front of him?"

Hermione sighed and Ginny waved a hand over her shoulder, indicating through the use of a cunning gesture that Harry could bugger off.

"I know I do," Hermione said. "Woke up feeling pretty poor, but what can you do? I have to go to work."

"And why aren't you at work already? I know you changed your hours so you could get those extra days off. Shouldn't you be on the road at least?"

"That's the thing," Hermione said, clearing her throat a bit and wincing at the sting. "Scraps had a rough night and I overslept – there's no way I can make the drive to my parents' and still get to work on time. And while my supervisor has been more understanding, we've a large conference meeting this afternoon and still a fair bit of organizing to get done."

Ginny looked very sorry. "Oh, Hermione. I can't. You know I can't, I've early training hours this month and next – besides, I haven't been feeling in top form this morning, myself." Hermione's face fell and Ginny sighed and glanced over her shoulder at her husband. "Harry?"

He came into view, Albus still on one hip. "Gin, you're leaving in another ten minutes and after that I've got to get these two off to The Burrow. Shacklebolt only gave me fifteen minutes when I got that Owl a moment ago. I've got to get in as well." He sighed and peered at Hermione. "Look, could you leave them with Molly? She won't mind, honestly. If you can, you can bring them over now and I'll take them with me when we go."

Hermione hesitated and Harry's face softened. Ginny disappeared from her view suddenly, calling for James.

"Hermione…you know you are allowed to call in a sick day," he said. Hermione shook her head.

"I'll take some Pepper-Up once I've taken care of the children. But you know I have to save my days, Harry."

"I know. Listen, let me take them to Molly – oh, shit."

"And whose language is so terrible?" Ginny called and Harry rolled his eyes. Hermione felt her heart sink and the throbbing returned to her temples.

"What is it, Harry?" she asked.

"It's just that they're taking the grandkids to see a show today – the one Charlie is over with promoting?"

"The dragons, right," Hermione said. She remembered it clearly because the amount of paperwork it had taken to clear the show with the Ministry had been phenomenal.

"But it's sold out and they've only so much room in the box Charlie reserved for them – not to mention the Portkey. Oh, no, Hermione. I'm so sorry. If we send them to Molly we'd still just have to…"

"No, it's ok, Harry," Hermione said, feeling far from ok. Panic was starting to creep in as the seconds ticked away. "I can call Narcissa, I guess, but – oh, gods. No, I can't, because she's going to the damned show as well, with Lucius. They have to go because his company is interested in Charlie's work. And before you ask, no, I don't particularly want Scraps to sit through an afternoon of watching grown men and women perform acrobatics off the backs of dragons fifty meters up. His nightmares are bad enough already," she snapped, feeling more irritable with every word.

Harry gave her a sympathetic look and Hermione was about to utter an apology and take herself off when Ginny reappeared.

"George!" she said brightly.

"What about him?" Hermione asked, rubbing at her head.

"Floo George. He can drive, Dad helped him get his license a couple years ago. He doesn't do it much, but occasionally they do have an enchanted delivery truck at the shop. They take it out every once in a while. And I know he's not doing anything this hour of the morning."

"Oh, I can't call George, Ginny! I'm sure he's busy with the shop or experiments –"

Ginny's face grew stern. "Hermione, I promise he is probably still sleeping. The shop doesn't open until ten. Call George."

"I can just take the day, Ginny, it doesn't matter."

Ginny glared at Harry, who smiled weakly at Hermione and waved before moving from view. The redheaded witch turned back to her.

"You listen to me, Hermione. George isn't doing anything right now other than – oh, probably sleeping off firewhisky! He can drive, you know he gets on with your kids, and he's not likely to run them into a ditch. If you plan on actually making work on time today you'd better Floo him and quick. I promise he won't mind – not if he knows what's good for him."

Hermione hesitated. "Well…I suppose…" she said, looking highly doubtful. "He did say last night I should rely on him if I needed anything."

"There you are then."

"I just didn't think I'd be calling him quite this soon. I don't think it's what he expected when he offered."

"Hermione, you're a single parent with two children. Nothing is ever going to be what either you or he expects and George, for all his pranking, whiny, woe-is-me faults, is smart enough to realize that. Give him some credit, Hermione. Merlin."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, alright, thanks Molly," she said pointedly and Ginny was about to retort something when Harry called to her.

"Gin, you've got to go."

"Alright. Love you, Hermione. Floo later, let me know how it went."

"I will. Thank you, Ginny, Harry. Love you too."

Then she pulled her head from the fireplace and the flames died. She tilted her head, listened for the sounds of merry making coming from the kitchen – Scraps was busy shooting his cereal bits at the wall, no doubt – and turned to gaze at Minnie, who was busily slurping her juice. Minnie paused and tilted her head to match her mother's. Hermione smiled at her.

"What do you think, love? Shall I call Uncle George?"

Minnie began sucking on her juice again and Hermione sighed and turned back to the fireplace. Then she tossed in another handful of Floo Powder and stuck her head back in.

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><p>The fireplace roared to life, startling George terribly. One second he was sleeping at the kitchen table and the next he was up on his feet, brandishing an empty bottle in all directions, shouting <em>Protego<em> as if it were his wand.

"George?" came Hermione's voice – or at least, it sounded somewhat like Hermione's voice. He immediately stopped, looked at the bottle in his hands, and tossed it over his shoulder. He smoothed down his hair nervously, quite unaware it was sticking up in the back, and moved cautiously to the fireplace.

"Hermione?" he responded and sure enough, there was her bushy haired self, peering out of the flames at him. Her hair looked as bad as he imagined his did and he stopped trying to catch it down. "What can I do for you?"

"It's only…I didn't have anyone else who could help, not today…one of those perfect storms…and I didn't want to call you so soon, but Ginny said…well, and I hope I didn't wake you?"

He smiled a little at her disjointed speech. It wasn't like her at all and he knew it must have been a hectic morning for her – especially if she was coming down with a cold, as her scratchy voice declared.

"How can I help?" he asked. She launched into another explanation.

"It's just the time…and I have to be at work…and I always drive the children to their grandparents' because I can't Floo them there…only there's absolutely no time this morning…I still have to change…Scraps – oh, there goes his bowl," she finished, turning her head slightly as if listening to something elsewhere in her home. George smiled a little more broadly.

"Hermione, how can I help?" he repeated more firmly, with just a touch of no-nonsense. Hermione turned her gaze back to him, a grateful, embarrassed expression on her face and finally told him what she needed done.

Ten minutes later George was standing in the parlor watching Hermione rearrange her robes for the fifth time.

"Love, you look fine – perfectly presentable. You even got that bit of drool out of your hair."

Hermione stopped and flushed prettily. "Minnie insists on sucking on my hair, for some reason," she muttered, feeling at the now tamed and sleek strands. They never felt as nice when she'd just spelled them into order, but it was better than nothing after the morning she'd had. George had even spelled her robes fresh and pressed for her – or as good as magic could do, at any rate. If he hadn't, she'd be late. In fact, if he hadn't popped over just a minute after she had Flooed him…

"Thank you, George," she said again and he laughed and bounced Minnie against his hip a bit more.

"It's not a problem, honestly. Something to get me up and keep me out of trouble before the day gets started. I told you last night – anytime you need my help, at all…"

"Yes, I know and…it's strange for me, you understand? But a lifesaver."

"Go on, before you use up your ration of compliments. Lovely last night, a lifesaver this morning, you're making me blush, Hermione!"

She flushed again and then leaned forward to kiss Minnie on the cheek one last time. Her daughter gurgled happily and then reached for her mother's curls again. George swiftly intercepted her chubby little fist and distracted as he was by his rescue of Hermione's hair, he nearly missed the way she then stood on tiptoe to land a kiss on his cheek as well. Before he could say or do anything, however, Scraps ran into the room and Hermione swooped down to give him a huge hug. Then she blew kisses at all three of them and disappeared into the fireplace, the words, "Ministry of Magic," on her lips.

George stood there completely shocked for a full minute before Scorpius tugged on his pantsleg.

"Gran and Gramps are waiting," he explained patiently when his Uncle George looked down at him, a silly expression on his face. He lowered his voice – which to a four year old meant it got louder. "And you know your hair is sticking up in the back? Like this?" He mimed exactly what George's hair was doing with his hands and George stared at him a moment, then began to laugh uproariously. His hair was a mess, he likely still had creases on his face from sleeping on the table, and he was lucky he'd had time to take hangover potion and spell himself clean before coming to Hermione's and thrust immediately into the thick of things. And yet he didn't know when he'd last had a day that had started off so well.

He laughed some more and Scraps joined him, giggling madly. Minnie decided not to be left out on the action and snuggled further against him before deciding to attempt climbing his shoulder. He swung her around his neck and perched her atop his shoulders, where she could fist her hands in his hair and attempt to eat the gingery locks all she liked.

Scraps's giggles died away and he smiled up at them. He liked Uncle George.

"Can we go now?" he asked and George nodded, grinning slyly.

"To the Malfoy Mobile!" he exclaimed and Scraps jumped up and down and whooped a bit before turning and running to the front door. George followed him, careful to watch that he didn't knock Minnie into anything; and a few minutes later, with both children safely strapped into their seats, he was in the driver's seat, pulling the vehicle away from the curb and into traffic.

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><p><strong>AN: The thought of George quoting Batman seemed appropriate at the time. XD I plead the fifth! <strong>


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